Hi! If I’m not mistaken I believe you are talking about McCall. My husband and I grew up in McCall in the 70-90s, both my parents worked for the payers forest service and my mom was the “secretary” for the smokejumpers for a time in the late 70s. As an elementary student I recall watching them during recess do their drills and stuff at their buildings snd grounds across from our school, and after school while I waited for mom to get off work. Ogling the smokejumpers was a thing I was vaguely aware the high school girls (in a small town the elementary was in the same building as the high school) did on their lunch breaks. ;)
My family was in that town during the final best years, before the mansions totally took over the lake front property in our tiny town. Our after school activity was to ride the school bus to the Little Ski Hill (that was the actual name) where a locker held our ski pass and gear, no lock required, and we’d ski til dark, charging hot chocolate and a hamburger on the family account and making endless runs down the hill until our folks would retrieve us at dark- or after if we got lucky!
I met my husband at 9 years old there (40+ years ago) and we are blessed to have had it as the very best place to have a childhood.
It’s different there now, just as you describe, but your blog today brought it all back for me and I’m basking in the warm memories. Even if they closed our favorite pancake house.
As always, Kelton, thank you for sharing such poignant moments in your family history. You write in a voice that I look forward to “hear” every Sunday!
I live in one of those just-barely-tapped mountain ski towns in Canada, but it's happening... housing prices are up, everyone + dog is moving here. I'm one of those remote-work imports but I'm determined to be someone that keeps it awesome vs. makes it suck. I hurt my wrist snowboarding last weekend and I'm just not feeling it...this is further confirmation that skiing is the way to go... -- first of your writing that I've read, such a great tribute and photos.
I loved reading this (and all your newsletters!) I've been around since the tumblr days, and your writing has always been a joy, no matter what the topic.
I just ran across your Substack while checking for new writers to follow, and read a few of your pieces. I love your writing style, and I share some things with you (although, at age 75, my adventurous outdoors days are behind me): I grew up in Montana, moved to Denver for college, and never left. I now live in a log house in the mountains west of Boulder, and have become involved with my local volunteer fire department as a volunteer. And I just finished Heather Hansman's (sp?) book "Powder Days" -- loved it; I knew characters just like her subjects (and your dad) back in the day. Speaking of your dad, this piece just pushed me over the edge, so I am off to become a paid subscriber. You are so lucky to have him in your life: I lost mine in 2009 and still miss him terribly). Selfishly, I hope you "stick" where you are now so that I can continue to enjoy your "almost local" CO life (I have a pretty good idea of where you must be) vicariously.
Thanks for sharing this with all these details! Very well written, and moving. I normally don’t read such long mails if they are not work related, but this hooked me! Thanks again!
Hi! If I’m not mistaken I believe you are talking about McCall. My husband and I grew up in McCall in the 70-90s, both my parents worked for the payers forest service and my mom was the “secretary” for the smokejumpers for a time in the late 70s. As an elementary student I recall watching them during recess do their drills and stuff at their buildings snd grounds across from our school, and after school while I waited for mom to get off work. Ogling the smokejumpers was a thing I was vaguely aware the high school girls (in a small town the elementary was in the same building as the high school) did on their lunch breaks. ;)
My family was in that town during the final best years, before the mansions totally took over the lake front property in our tiny town. Our after school activity was to ride the school bus to the Little Ski Hill (that was the actual name) where a locker held our ski pass and gear, no lock required, and we’d ski til dark, charging hot chocolate and a hamburger on the family account and making endless runs down the hill until our folks would retrieve us at dark- or after if we got lucky!
I met my husband at 9 years old there (40+ years ago) and we are blessed to have had it as the very best place to have a childhood.
It’s different there now, just as you describe, but your blog today brought it all back for me and I’m basking in the warm memories. Even if they closed our favorite pancake house.
Thank you for this entry today.
Very moving. Thanks much (from your favorite ski bum) 😘
Love it! And those vintage pics of your dad are just...*chef's kiss*
As always, Kelton, thank you for sharing such poignant moments in your family history. You write in a voice that I look forward to “hear” every Sunday!
I LOVE reading what you write! Every. Damn. Time!
This is really beautiful. Thank you for sharing your dad with us.
I'm always envious of the people working at the mountain.. summer or winter. In my mind, it is the best gig around. Your Dad is awesome.
I live in one of those just-barely-tapped mountain ski towns in Canada, but it's happening... housing prices are up, everyone + dog is moving here. I'm one of those remote-work imports but I'm determined to be someone that keeps it awesome vs. makes it suck. I hurt my wrist snowboarding last weekend and I'm just not feeling it...this is further confirmation that skiing is the way to go... -- first of your writing that I've read, such a great tribute and photos.
Your photo comments are the absolute best!! My favorite post so far 🥰
Now I understand. 💕
Nice tribute and great portrait of the ski bum; his humor, joy and passions.
Lovely!
I loved reading this (and all your newsletters!) I've been around since the tumblr days, and your writing has always been a joy, no matter what the topic.
I just ran across your Substack while checking for new writers to follow, and read a few of your pieces. I love your writing style, and I share some things with you (although, at age 75, my adventurous outdoors days are behind me): I grew up in Montana, moved to Denver for college, and never left. I now live in a log house in the mountains west of Boulder, and have become involved with my local volunteer fire department as a volunteer. And I just finished Heather Hansman's (sp?) book "Powder Days" -- loved it; I knew characters just like her subjects (and your dad) back in the day. Speaking of your dad, this piece just pushed me over the edge, so I am off to become a paid subscriber. You are so lucky to have him in your life: I lost mine in 2009 and still miss him terribly). Selfishly, I hope you "stick" where you are now so that I can continue to enjoy your "almost local" CO life (I have a pretty good idea of where you must be) vicariously.
Thanks for sharing this with all these details! Very well written, and moving. I normally don’t read such long mails if they are not work related, but this hooked me! Thanks again!